


Hitchin' a Ride

by withhishands



Series: Christmas Prompt Fills [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Christmas Prompt, Gen, Hitchhiking, M/M, Pre-Slash, classic rock references, i listen to a lot of supernatural soundtracks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-19
Updated: 2013-11-19
Packaged: 2018-01-02 01:16:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1050792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withhishands/pseuds/withhishands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt fill: Xmas AU- Ian picks up Mickey, a hitchhiker, on Christmas Eve</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hitchin' a Ride

**Author's Note:**

> Quickly written, unbeta'd prompt-fill for a wonderful anon! I hope you like it!

Mickey’s lips form a thin line. He stares at the bus attendant with poorly concealed rage and bounces his fist on the ticket counter a few times. 

“Okay,” he says. He rubs his jaw and bites his lip and tries his best to not cause a scene in the bus depot. He flings his duffel bag over his shoulder and leaves the ticket counter. He finds a pay phone outside and calls Mandy. He tells her there are no more buses going to Chicago before Christmas. 

Mickey presses the phone between his ear and his shoulder and pats his pockets down for a pack of cigarettes. 

“It’s Christmas Eve,” Mandy says. Mickey snorts. 

“Thanks, I didn’t know,” he mumbles, his unlit cigarette bobbing between his lips. He finds a lighter and sighs out his first drag in relief. “Ain’t anything I can do now.”

“You can’t miss Christmas again,” Mandy says. Mickey rolls his eyes and taps ashes off against the metal of the phone booth. 

“I’m not doing it on purpose.”

“Yeah, sure,” Mandy mutters. 

The phone call disconnects. Mickey sighs and hangs up the receiver with more force than necessary. He grabs his bag and leaves the phone booth feeling vaguely guilty. He gets back in line inside the bus depot, studying the schedule the entire time. There are two open seats on a bus heading up to Buffalo. Mickey pays for the ticket and stays on the bus until the Grove City stop at I-80. 

Down forty dollars and no closer to Chicago, Mickey sits on the curb outside of the Grove City bus depot. There are a few stranded travelers mulling around, but it’s largely empty. Mickey buys coffee from a vending machine and drinks the entire cup with a grimace. He stalls hiking out to the highway for as long as he can, but he knows it’ll be dark out soon and that his chances of getting picked up at night will drop to zero. He pulls himself up and starts walking out to the interstate. 

An old guy in a pickup truck stops for him after twenty minutes of walking. He says he can take Mickey as far west as Cleveland and Mickey nods and says thanks. Cleveland is at least two hours in the right direction. 

It’s dark when they get to Cleveland. The old guy drops him off on the highway and Mickey keeps walking. He walks for an hour and a half and feels no closer to home. His arm hurts from keeping his thumb out and starts walking without it up. Except then, every car that passes, he wonders if they would have stopped had his thumb been out, so he sticks his thumb back out. He walks backwards for a while to give his other arm a rest and ends up tripping and falling. 

At almost eleven o’clock, a car stops a few hundred yards ahead of Mickey. Mickey approaches the car slowly because it’s dark out and they honestly might not have been stopping for him. He can see an arm fly out of the driver’s side window and wave him up. 

Mickey leans down and looks at the driver through the passenger side window. In the dim light of the console and the passing headlights from the other side of the highway, the guy is stupidly handsome. He kind of smiles and asks, “Where you headed?”

“Chicago,” Mickey says. 

“It’s your lucky day,” the guy says. He leans over and opens the passenger door, waving his hand to come in. 

“Thanks,” Mickey says. He flings his duffel into the backseat and situates himself in the front of the car. The guy merges back onto the highway.

“I’m Ian,” he says. He looks over at Mickey briefly before looking back at the road. 

“Mickey.”

“Why are you going to Chicago?”

Mickey immediately misses the old guy in the pickup truck because he hadn’t asked Mickey a single question except where he was going. Not wanting to piss on this guy’s goodwill, Mickey answers. 

“I’m from Chicago,” Mickey admits.

“Me too,” Ian says. “I didn’t think I’d get back in time for Christmas, but it looks like we’ll get there before breakfast.”

Mickey stays quiet and Ian seems okay with it because he doesn’t say anything else. He turns the radio up and taps his thumbs against the steering wheel. Ian’s quiet until ‘Simple Man’ comes on. Mickey isn’t expecting Ian to start singing, and he’s surprised that he doesn’t mind it. He sings softly, his voice low and on par with Ronnie Van Zant. Mickey smiles out the window and taps his foot to the music. 

Two hours later, just after one in the morning, Mickey offers to drive so Ian can sleep. 

“I wish,” Ian says under his breath. “I’m not going to be able to sleep. It’s okay.”

Mickey doesn’t sleep either; he can’t sleep in cars. Instead he watches the headlights of the traffic on the other side of the road and listens to Ian sing. The music disappears and is replaced by a soft ring and an accompanying vibration. Ian reaches into the center console and grabs his phone. 

“Hey, Fi,” he says, bringing the phone up to his ear. “I don’t know what city, but I think we’re about to hit the Indiana border. Yeah. I picked up a hitchhiker. He’s not going to murder me, Fiona. I can protect myself. What do you think they taught us at Pendleton? Knitting? Yeah, okay. Don’t tell Debbie or Carl I’ll be there in the morning. Okay. Yeah. Okay. Love you, too.”

Ian hangs up the phone and the music starts playing again over the speakers. He passes Mickey the phone.

“Do you want to call anyone?” Ian asks. “I should have asked earlier.”

Mickey shakes his head.

“You were in the Army?” Mickey asks. 

“Marines,” Ian corrects. “Yeah. I just got back yesterday. Or, I guess, two days ago now.”

Mickey nods and turns to look out the window. He gets a nicotine craving and turns back to Ian. 

"You mind if I smoke?" he asks, reaching for his bag in the backseat. 

"You got an extra?" 

Mickey nods and manages to pull the pack free from his duffel. He puts two cigarettes in his mouth and lights both of them. He feels immediately embarrassed. He doesn't know why he decided to light them both. Ian smiles when Mickey passes him one. They both breathe out smoke, laugh, and roll down the windows. Mickey looks sideways at Ian, slightly mesmerized by the way the cigarette rests in the corner of his mouth. Ian catches him staring and smiles. 

The song on the radio changes to 'Renegade' and Mickey steels his courage and starts singing. Ian joins him and pounds his fist on the steering wheel in time to the heavy drum beats. 

"Hangman is comin' down from the gallows and I don't have very long," Mickey sings. They sing and play air instruments for the rest of the song and Mickey hasn't laughed or had that much fun in a while. Which feels ridiculous because it's just a song on the radio in the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere with a strange boy in the driver's seat.

"You don't live in Chicago?" Ian asks, pulling Mickey from his thoughts. 

"Not for a few years," Mickey says with a shake of his head. "I live in Pittsburgh. I had a lot of family stuff that, uh, made it easy to move."

"But you're going home for Christmas?"

Mickey shrugs. "Just for my sister. She had a baby last year and I haven't seen it yet."

"It?" Ian asks with a laugh. 

"He," Mickey corrects. "My nephew. My sister doesn't talk to our dad anymore, so I think the odds of running into him are pretty slim."

Ian hums. 

"What about you?" Mickey asks, turning the conversation away from himself. "You get along with your parents?"

"No," Ian says with a derisive snort. "I haven't seen my mom for like six years. My dad isn't- well, he's not even technically my dad, but he's a drunk. He'll be at the house, but it doesn't matter."

"Abusive drunk?" Mickey finds himself asking. He doesn't like the way his throat closes and makes his words sound choked. 

"Not really. He's just a dick," Ian says. "He's never liked me much. Even before he found out I wasn't his. It's just- he doesn't like any of us much, really. Unless he needs something." There's a silence in the car, only the low sounds of John Fogerty making noise. "That was an over share. I'm sorry."

"Who better to vent to than a stranger on the highway?" Mickey says quietly. 

"I guess," Ian says, letting out a breathy laugh. "If you've got any sad confessions to make, now's the time."

Mickey smiles and looks out the window at the dark, passing silhouettes of the roadside. 

"My dad beat me up and kicked me out when he found out I was gay," Mickey confesses. 

"I'm sorry," Ian says immediately. It's genuine and unexpected and Mickey frowns a little. "How did he find out?"

"The worst way," Mickey says and finds himself surprisingly laughing. It's been three years and he thinks he's maybe far enough away from it that it doesn't hurt quite as much. 

"Balls deep in some guy?" Ian asks, laughing and then apologizing. 

"Other way around," Mickey confesses. 

"My dad found me at a gay bar," Ian says. Mickey narrows his eyes and looks sternly at Ian. He definitely hadn't seen that coming. "We were both embarrassed."

"Why was he there?"

"He," Ian starts and then sighs loudly. "He conned this guy into a civil union so he could get benefits and ended up being like, some kind of fuckin' low class gay rights example. He milked it for all he could."

"Shit," Mickey mumbles. 

"It's fucking creepy how much we have in common," Ian says.

"In common, like from Chicago and gay?" Mickey asks, laughing. 

"I'm sure we'll find something else," Ian says and it sounds like a come-on. Mickey raises his eyebrows and smirks. 

The last hour of the drive passes slowly. Mickey zones out. This will be the first time he sees his nephew because he hasn’t been able to work up the nerve to go to Chicago. There’s a reason he waited until the last possible minute to look for a bus ticket. Mickey is amazed to find himself feeling less anxious about it, though. It might be how long it’s been since he left and it might be telling a complete stranger about it. Either way, Mickey doesn’t feel nauseated when they pass the signs for Chicago. 

“Do you know your sister’s address?” Ian asks. When Mickey shakes his head, Ian adds, “Wanna call her?”

Mickey taps in Mandy’s number quickly and presses the phone to his ear. He’s definitely woken her up; he can hear it in her voice when she croaks out, “Ian?”

“What? This is Mickey,” Mickey says, frowning. "You know Ian?" He looks at Ian and says, "You know my sister?"

"What the fuck is going on?" Mandy asks, audibly tired. "Is Ian giving you a ride?"

"How do you know Ian?" 

"We went to school together," Mandy says, distractedly. To someone in the background, she says, "It's Mickey. He's with Ian."

"Who's that?" Mickey asks. 

"It's Lip," Mandy mumbles. "What'd you want?"

“I just called for your address,” Mickey says. He rubs at the forming headache in his temple. 

“Just follow Ian,” Mandy says. There’s a pause before the phone disconnects. 

Mickey holds the phone for a moment, staring at the black screen. He bites the insides of his cheeks before taking a deep breath in and then sighing. He turns to Ian, who looks like he’s about to combust from holding in laughter. 

“I guess we’ve got a little bit more in common,” Ian comments.

**Author's Note:**

> I got quite a few Christmas-y prompts and I am going to try my best to fulfill all of them. I'll make them a series once I post another. 
> 
>  
> 
> withhishands.tumblr.com


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